


All Roads Lead

by wheredwellthe_brave_atheart



Series: All These Difficult Things [2]
Category: His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman
Genre: AU, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-16
Updated: 2016-02-16
Packaged: 2018-05-20 23:07:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6028822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheredwellthe_brave_atheart/pseuds/wheredwellthe_brave_atheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'"Dear one," the witch queen murmurs, fingertips cold against the skin of Lyra's hands, "the world is shifting, turning, always - what was once the only path for you may have changed. You needn't feel chained to one fate."</p><p>Lyra wants to believe her.'</p><p>Fifty prompts of Lyra and Will, together and apart, waiting, wanting, and working.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Roads Lead

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the His Dark Materials world, created by Phillip Pullman. I do not claim ownership over the world or any characters used. I am not profiting in any way from this work, it is my own invention and for entertainment only, and it is not purported to be a part of Phillip Pullman’s official story line.
> 
> This is the second part in my glorious AU series, in which I can't help myself and explore Lyra and Will's lives with a Doorway discovered between their worlds. You can read this without reading part one ("An Entrance Somewhere Else"), but it makes less sense, I think, since it picks up with what that one established. 
> 
> Enjoy!

-Wrong-  
A piece of him he hadn't realized was missing settles into place when he feels Lyra's fingers on Kirjava's fur again. 

 

-Wash-  
She waits until Will is already in the shower to enter the bathroom and hang her robe on the back of the door. The mirrors are fogged with steam, and she can make out Will's silhouette standing under the running water. She lets out her breath, and steps barefoot over the tiles into the shower, sliding the door shut behind her. 

Will's broad shoulders fill the tiny stall, the hot water sliding down the contours of his body. She follows its path with her eyes, breath catching at the sight of him so bared before her - his hard chest, his muscled arms, his strong legs, all of Will standing so tall in the tight space, the glass around them steamed with heat - such a vision causes Lyra to gasp and press herself against him, his skin wet against her open mouth. 

Will holds her against the wall, teeth tugging at her bottom lip, and she runs her fingers through his hair, gripping tight. 

 

-Last-  
"I tried to keep our promise," he whispers as they lay in his bed, damp with sweat, hearts beating together. "I tried, I dated a few girls, but Lyra-" he shakes his head, and kisses her shoulder. "It's you, it can only be you," he mumbles into her skin. 

"You are the first person I ever loved this way," she professes softly. "And I want you to be the last, Will. I don't care how little time we have together. I loved other men, but nothing like this, never like this," she gasps as he kisses her neck and jaw. 

 

-Vision-  
He wakes to much banging and cursing, and blinks his sleep-heavy eyes at the sight of Lyra hopping on one foot and clutching her stubbed toe, foul oaths against his doorframe pouring from her pretty mouth. 

 

-Torn-  
Leaving feels like her bones are ripping apart, but staying too long would shred her soul, piece by piece. 

 

-Young-  
St. Sophia's sometimes asks her to give guest lectures. She walks back through the courtyards and up the staircases and through the halls where she spent her second girlhood, and she remembers a time when she felt perhaps the youngest she ever has in her life. 

 

-Gentle-  
"Ouch," Pantalaimon hisses, fur standing on end. 

Lyra plucks the burs from his paw with gentle fingers. "Well, if you hadn't felt the need to chase that dove all the way through to the pond, we wouldn't be having this problem."

 

-One-  
Will is a static figure amongst the explosion of cheers and cries that erupts as the countdown ends, welcoming in the new year. Glasses are toasted, champagne is spilled in the exuberance, and someone - probably Jim, he thinks - is singing a slightly drunk version of Auld Lang Syne, but Will just smiles and raises his own glass with care, thinking of how much Lyra would love the fireworks. 

 

-Thousand-  
Lyra shakes out her sheets and watches the dust motes swirl through the sunlight from her window. 

She thinks, as she so often does, of the mulefa, and of the final Door, as she waves her hand through the air, swirling the clouds of ordinary dust. 

 

-Fortune-  
Will gapes, open-mouthed, at the splendor of Lyra's inherited apartments. 

"I really just use the first floor," she says, with a nonchalance that makes Kirjava's whiskers twitch. "I've been trying to organize the rest into a sort of shelter, or something, you know, for kids, maybe." 

Will can't think of a more fitting use for Lord Asriel and Mrs. Coulter's wealth. 

 

-Need-  
"Because it's the Summer Festival!" she says, shocked. "It's in the main square, we can't possibly miss it!" 

 

-King-  
"So I beat him in chess and then he heard my proposal," she rolls her eyes dramatically, crossing one ankle over the other in their carriage. 

"Chess?" he inquires, jostled by the ride. 

She nods. "It's a lot like puzzling out the alethiometer, actually. Seeing the levels of strategy, and all that."

He smiles and watches the busy street pass by out the window. "I'll have to play you sometime," he says. 

"Sometime," she says softly. 

 

-Blur-  
It's when he wakes to a shaky pulse and blurry vision that he knows it's time to be in his world again. 

 

-Learn-  
Lyra shoves her notes away, seething with frustration. 

 

-Wait-  
Mary thinks Will might be the most patient person she's ever known, which is saying something, since she spent most of her young life surrounded by people waiting for God. 

 

-Change-  
"Your hair's shorter," she remarks, threading her fingers through it carefully, resentful of the change she wasn't there to witness. 

 

-Mad-  
"I can't do this!" she hisses, tears leaking from her eyes. "I can't, Will, I can't go on pretending like this is forever, like there's nothing at stake-" her voice catches. "It's always going to cost us, it's about Kir and Pan, and I can't keep doing this if it's just going to be taken away- "

"Taken away?" he asks with a rough voice. 

She nods, her hair shaking like a lion's mane. "I can't- it would be worse, so much worse, to have all this," she gulps, "to let myself keep doing this, only to have something go wrong, Will, do you see?"

His chest feels very cold. 

 

-Goodbye-  
She thinks that it couldn't possibly be worse than that first time, that final parting when he shattered the Knife, but she knows she's wrong as she turns her face away from his and walks out of his life, miserable and aching and alone. 

 

-Shadow-  
Kirjava slinks alongside his restless, wandering feet in the darkness of the street, weaving in and out of the glow of streetlamps. She is thin and her coat is dull, though they haven't left their world for months. 

 

-Motion-  
Serafina Pekkala's witch-glow engulfs Lyra in the cool night, wrapping around her senses. Pantalaimon is off with Kaisa somewhere away from the fire. 

"Dear one," the witch queen murmurs, fingertips cold against the skin of Lyra's hands, "the world is shifting, turning, always - what was once the only path for you may have changed. You needn't feel chained to one fate."

Lyra wants to believe her. 

 

-Precious-  
"That's not good enough," he snaps, sick of listening to demographic reports and budget projections and resource analysis from men who've never seen children wasting away in front of them. 

 

-Hide-  
She says farewell to the witches and hides further North. Iorek watches her with bemusement on his Bear face as his cubs scamper around her playfully, young claws skidding and scraping on the ice. 

"Lyra Silvertongue," he says later, his voice rumbling deep with admonishment, "do not forsake your courage." 

She flits a hand to the alethiometer, imaging she can hear it whispering to the great Bear in agreement. 

 

-Soul-  
"It's wrong!" she cries, waiting for him like a mirage on the steps of his building, after so many long months apart. "Pan, he wasn't right, not at all, ever since we left-"

 

-God-  
"I had a girlfriend in medical school," he murmurs as they lie tangled in her bed in the early hours of the morning, "who was Protestant, right, and she was always asking me to come to church with her." His fingers are caught up in her hair as he explains, "She wouldn't listen when I told her lies, and she left when I tried to tell her the truth."

Lyra nods, understanding. She remembers countless cathedrals and temples and ceremonies full of prayers throughout her life, all of which were altered forever after she watched God die. 

 

-Command-  
"And I need those on my desk by the end of the day, all right?" he asks one of his nurses, who nods and flashes him a thumbs-up cheerfully. "Thanks, Paul." 

Once they're alone in his office again, Will turns to see Lyra leaning back against his desk with a curious expression on her face. 

"What is it?"

She shrugs. "It's nice to see you here, in your clinic," she says. 

 

-Fool-  
They go for a walk in the Jordan marketplace, one morning when the sun is bright and the crowds are thronging the winding streets. Lyra brings a basket lined with blue cloth to buy fruit, and Will spends the whole day grinning like a madman. 

 

-Attention-  
Lyra parades him around the airy ballroom, a braggart's smile on her lips - it's not every day she gets to appear with her colleagues and show off Will Parry to their society.

 

-Hold-  
She laughs at his stumbling skates and takes pity on him, gliding around to face him, taking his hands in hers. 

"How can you go backwards?" he splutters incredulously. "When I can barely stay upright?"

Her eyes twinkle as she guides him along the edge of the frozen lake. "Years of practice," she says. "I do sometimes have time to myself, and there's no lack of ice on Svalbard."

 

-Now-  
It's hard to be cheerful tonight when she knows he'll be leaving so soon, but she tucks her arm in his and squares her jaw just like he always does before something difficult, and vows to make their short time together count. 

 

-Picture-  
Will's determination - some would say stubbornness - seemed to be an inherited trait, as Elaine Parry was quite insistent when faced with any sort of challenge, just like her son. 

"I'm not taking no for an answer, darling, I want a photo of her," his mother declares, despite his explanations. "I have so many nice ones of you, and I want one of Lyra, I'll put it right here on my table."

So he convinces Lyra that she doesn't need to worry about posing for a portrait or photogram, but snaps a picture of her smiling in the snow outside. 

He puts it in a silver frame and gives it to his mother on his next visit. 

 

-Child-  
"I dunno, Lyra, it's just what you do, all right?" Will struggles to hoist the Christmas tree into a vertical position in his crowded living room, as Lyra looks on with a skeptical eye. 

"And everyone goes along with this?" she questions suspiciously, still doubtful of Will's supposed Christmas traditions, so different from her own. "And it's all for the kids, and everything?"

He manages to get the tree's trunk into his wobbly plastic stand, and brushes errant pine needles off his clothes. "It's for everyone," he says, triumphantly. "The whole seasons' supposed to be about spreading joy, really."

She shrugs, and picks up a string of fairy lights. "Well, in that case, I guess it sounds alright." 

"But I still dunno about eggnog," Pantalaimon grumbles from his place on the carpet. "It sounds revolting."

 

-Cool-  
January frost creeps up his window pane, and Kirjava scratches a paw against the glass. 

"It's outside, stupid," Pantalaimon grumbles affectionately. 

 

-Book-  
Will wakes in the early hours of the morning to find Lyra huddled with the book, bedside lamp lit and the sheets yanked to her side. He yawns and rolls to face her. "What part are you at?" he asks drowsily. 

"They're playing the bloody giant chess set," she says, without taking her eyes off the page. 

He chuckles and stretches out lazily. "I still can't believe I never told you about Harry Potter before now," he murmurs. 

"Shh," she admonishes. "Go back to sleep, I have to finish." 

 

-Eye-  
Xaphania warned them of the consequences of searching for Doors, of wasting away in worlds that were not their own, but as time passed it seemed theirs was a gift given in grace - with perhaps a watchful eye waiting. 

 

-Ghost-  
The child is waif-like and frail, huddled between barrels of fish and ale on the cold dock. 

Lyra crouches to her level, her fine skirt dragging in the slush. "Where's your mama?" she asks softly. "Where's your home?"

 

-Safe-  
Ma Costa snorts at her, balancing her granddaughter on her knee. "Never a guarantee of that, now is there? Least not so long as I can remember."

 

-Stop-  
The committee blusters and coughs to avoid the truth, but Lyra won't delay the much-needed reform any longer. She thinks of little Mila Costa and refuses to back down. 

 

-Wish-  
"Yes?" Lyra steps out from the podium to call on a young girl with her hand raised eagerly. 

The student is a little breathless as she says, "Well, Madam Belaqua, I've just always thought it seems odd that, theologically speaking, we wish upon the stars that are falling to the Earth - surely the ones that remain steady in the sky are more reliable vessels for our dreams."

Lyra smiles, slow and secretive. "And what's your name?" 

 

-Power-  
His patients are sometimes nervous initially. He is, after all, quite tall and imposing, and children are often curious about his missing fingers. But he teases them, says he lost them in a sword fight, or a lightsaber duel, or that a crocodile bit them off, and they laugh. 

 

-Harm-  
Mary once asked him, in the middle of winter exams in his first year of medical school, why he wanted to be a pediatrician. 

"Not that it doesn't seem fitting," she explained, assuredly. "I'm just curious."

He considered it carefully, and replied, "Well, it's my part, isn't it? 'Do no harm', and all that. It's building the Republic of Heaven, right here on Earth." 

 

-Never-  
He thinks of the expression that would grace Lyra's face if ever she was confronted with this level of idiocy in regards to the health of a child. 

"No, that is absolutely not all we can do," he says firmly, glaring at the insurance collector and daring the man to contradict him. 

 

-Sudden-  
He laughs when he greets her, twining their fingers together. 

"I've been busy," he explains, feeling oddly cheerful and relieved. "I've been busy working, instead of waiting."

 

-Sing-  
The lights in the pub are dim as Will hums along with the band's song - his voice is low and scratchy from the drink, but it warms Lyra's chest even more than the rum. 

 

-Time-  
"Goodness, is that the time?" Mary exclaims when Will gets up to refill their drinks. "You two are a bad influence on this old woman."

Lyra snorts into the fresh tumbler Will hands her. "You en't a nun anymore, and you en't old, either, Mary, so don't even try."

Their host laughs and raises her empty glass cheerfully. 

 

-History-  
"It's so different than my Oxford!" she whines, for neither the first nor last time. 

 

-Bother-  
Will struggles into a waistcoat and jacket, proper shoes and tailored trousers, and even finds a hat and gloves, but it's the ascot that defeats him. 

"I don't suppose I could just wear jeans," he says as Lyra's clever fingers fix the cloth at his neck. 

 

-Wall-  
She picks a day where nothing particularly important is scheduled, and climbs up to Jordan's rooftop, a bottle of wine and a notebook in hand. She sits with Pan on the edge, shoes dangling over the city below, and thinks of Roger, of his cheery smile and boyish exuberance for her wild childhood schemes. 

 

-Naked-  
It's been long enough that they're frantic, now, barely making it to Will's apartment. 

Once inside, Will picks her up and presses her back against his front door - she wraps her legs around his waist and kisses him hard, desperately, until she tilts her hips just so and he moans into her mouth. 

"Bedroom-" he gasps, hands wide and strong under her thighs, but she shakes her head and slides down, pushing him to the floor. 

"Here, now," she declares, pulling off her shirt and yanking at his buttons.

 

-Drive-  
"Jesus, Lyra-!" he half-laughs, half-cries, as she jerks around another corner. Kirjava dives under the seat, and Will tightens his grip on his seat.

 

-Hunger-  
"Oh, shut up," she says, and he smirks while scraping her burned eggs off his pan. "Your kitchen is rubbish anyway."

He leaves the dishes in the sink and pulls her close by the waist. She scowls in his arms until he agrees that yes, it is a rubbish kitchen, and takeaway really does sound better than scrambled eggs, and she relaxes into his embrace. 

 

-Believe-  
The sun glints off Will's watch, his hand outstretched in a wave of farewell. 

It hurts, as always, to walk away from him, but Pan winds around her shoulders and she holds onto a promise - she'll see him again, if not soon then at least eventually. And in the meantime, she has work to do, and a life to live, and stories to find.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought :)


End file.
